


The Reunion

by gooseclaws



Series: Under Your Sky [2]
Category: Wynonna Earp (TV)
Genre: F/F, Smut, barest imitation of a plot, pre-wedding wayhaught, thank you to everyone who donated to MFF back in june, two years after under your sky
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-03
Updated: 2021-02-03
Packaged: 2021-03-14 07:35:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,067
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29167404
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gooseclaws/pseuds/gooseclaws
Summary: Waverly needs help choosing an outfit, or so she says. Nicole is only too happy to help.[technically a sequel to Under Your Sky, but stands alone just as well.]
Relationships: Waverly Earp/Nicole Haught
Series: Under Your Sky [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2141832
Comments: 24
Kudos: 200





	The Reunion

**Author's Note:**

> this fic is set two years after my first fic, under your sky, but i don't think reading that fic is necessary to read this. it's really just smut!

Wedding planning was going to kill Nicole Haught.

Her eyes lost focus as the tinny voice of her wedding planner bubbled through the speaker of her phone. Her hand lay exhausted on her notepad,  _ how many napkins? _ and  _ what color seating arrangements? _ scrawled, scribbled out, and corrected beneath her fingers.

Nicole finally pried herself free of the conversation, stemming the tide of questions with a brusque goodbye. She hung up the phone, dropped her head into her hands, and sighed like a hurricane.

“Long day?” asked someone behind her, and Nicole turned to see Waverly framed in the doorway of the studio, her own eyes tired and lined.

She thought back, trying to remember the last time they’d spoken to each other. A muttered “good morning” when Nicole had peeled herself from the bed before the dawn? No... it had been a hurried exchange of “I love yous” as Waverly had answered the phone as the kettle boiled for their coffee, her creative team on the other line with some new emergency or another.

Nicole stretched her arms toward the ceiling, savoring the cracks rippling down her spine. “As always. You?”

“Oh, you know. The show must go on.” Shutting the door behind her, Waverly tiptoed across the room, bent down, and pressed a gentle kiss to Nicole’s lips. “I missed you.”

“Missed you, too,” Nicole murmured.

“I’m sorry you got stuck with so much of the wedding planning.” Waverly brushed a loose strand of hair from Nicole’s face. “I was really looking forward to doing it together.”

Nicole shrugged. “I’m sorry your tour planning got so out of control.”

“Ohh, don’t remind me.” Waverly grimaced. “Though... that’s kind of why I came out here...”

Catching Waverly’s hands in her own, Nicole pressed a kiss to the finger that wore her grandmother’s ring, and smiled up at her. “What do you need?”

“Just your opinion.”

“You know people have been asking me for my opinion all day, right? You know I have to have an opinion on  _ napkin colors? _ ”

“Champagne,” said Waverly.

Nicole blinked.

“It’s a color,” said Waverly.

“Oh. Right. Yeah. Champagne. Duh.”

Waverly laughed and pulled her lips into a pitying frown. “Oh, my poor baby.” She tugged at Nicole’s hands, coaxing her to her feet. “Come on, I promise I’ll make this worth your while.”

As always, when Waverly Earp beckoned, Nicole was powerless but to follow.

They left the studio—the homestead’s barn given new life when they’d moved in—and hurried toward the house. Waverly dragged Nicole upstairs, into their bedroom, and deposited her on the chair in the corner.

Music already filled the room, low and sultry. Nicole shielded her eyes against the rack of clothing sparkling in the center of the room. She counted at least five outfits she didn’t recognize, sequined and sheer concoctions, each one more complicated than the last. Her tight-wound face melted into a grin.

“I see that face,” said Waverly, from the other side of the clothing rack. She raised an eyebrow and bit her lip, and the first dagger of desire stabbed low in Nicole’s gut. “Do you think you can give me your opinion on these?”

“Mm, I don’t know...” Nicole cocked her head. “I think I’ll have to see you in them.”

“Well, obviously.” Waverly pulled one outfit down and, noticing Nicole’s eyes still glued to her, shielded herself behind it. “Don’t look!”

"Why not?"

"Because you'll  _ spoil _ the  _ surprise _ . Now close your eyes!"

”Fine,” whined Nicole, and she let her eyes flutter closed.

The urge to peek swelled in Nicole as the sound of rustling fabric mixed with the music already filling the room. Just as she was about to give in, she heard Waverly giggle, and in a few quick pattering steps Waverly had crossed the room, framed Nicole’s face in her hands, and brushed a kiss as soft as silk across her lips. “You were so good,” she said. “Open your eyes.”

Still drunk on the barest suggestion of Waverly’s lips, Nicole peeled her eyes open to see that Waverly had retreated to the center of the room. She did a little twist, and her costume shimmered like a brilliant-cut diamond.

It left little to the imagination—or in Nicole’s case, memory—diving between Waverly’s breasts and cutting high at the waist to emphasize the curve of her hips. Waverly spun, and Nicole let out a whistling breath at the skin on display.

”What do you think?” asked Waverly, flashing a grin at Nicole over her shoulder. That smile slipped below Nicole’s ribs like a key, unlocking the bars caging her hunger.

”I think,” said Nicole, watching Waverly’s smile grow at the way her voice had grown reedy and unsteady, “that you need to come here.”

”If I go over there, I’m never going to try on the rest of these outfits.”

”So?”

”Nice try. Close your eyes again.”

Nicole obeyed, reluctantly, but as Waverly retreated behind the clothes rack again, she opened them fully. 

The costumes hid most of Waverly’s body from view, obscuring her from the shoulders down. Nicole watched those shoulders flex and curve as Waverly shimmied out of the diamond-sparkling outfit. Through the thicket of the other clothes, she caught glimpses of the rest of Waverly: a hint of her thigh as she stepped into something new; light filtering through the curtains and casting the sculpture of her forearms in shadow; the arc of her breast capped by a pink nipple.

Nicole watched, entranced, until Waverly pulled a plain, white shirt over her head. As Waverly’s head poked free, she noticed Nicole’s attention on her.

”I told you not to watch,” she said, lifting the curtain of her hair from the collar of the shirt.

”I’m not even a little sorry,” said Nicole. “Next time you change, I’m coming over there to show you exactly what I think of these costumes.”

Waverly’s eyes glittered as she pulled a jacket around her shoulders. “Don’t you dare.”

”Don’t think I won’t.”

”If you stay where you are and keep your hands to yourself, I promise I’ll make it worth your while.”

”Oh yeah?” Nicole leaned forward, elbows on her knees, and arched an eyebrow. “What do I win?”

Waverly smiled behind the finger she pressed to her lips. “That would be telling. Okay, what do you think of this one?”

She stepped out from behind the rack and did a full three-sixty, letting her skirt flare out around her. A sparkling varsity jacket hung over her plain white shirt.

Nicole cocked her head to the side, eyebrows knitting together. “Wait... this is an old one. From your  _ Easy _ tour.”

Humming an assent, Waverly stepped closer. “I remember you liking this one.”

”I liked stripping you out of it,” said Nicole. Waverly bent toward her. Her fingers curled beneath Nicole’s chin and with a gentle nudge she lifted Nicole’s face toward her. Their eyes met, and held. The ground dropped out from beneath Nicole at the gleam in those familiar eyes.

Waverly’s lips trembled as they met Nicole’s, and when she pulled away her breath set Nicole’s skin to tingling. Nicole’s hand rounded Waverly’s waist, skimming up the plane of her back, until Waverly pulled away with a laugh. She caught Nicole’s hand and returned it to her lap. “Didn’t you hear me when I said no touching?”

Nicole’s fingers felt the chill of Waverly’s absence.

Waverly ignored the longing in Nicole’s eyes, looking down at herself instead, running her hands over the costume. “Do you remember how the dance went for that song? I think it was something like this...”

She started to move.

Nicole had watched Waverly dance, more times than she could count. She’d seen her drenched in stage light, glittering like a thousand stars. She’d watched her rehearse, hair plastered to her forehead and lycra plastered to the rest of her with sweat.

She had never seen Waverly like this.

Waverly started slow, matching the music. Her hands drifted over her body, sliding over her curves. Memory tormented Nicole. As Waverly continued her slow exploration, Nicole’s mind painted a picture of her own hands tracing the trails blazed by Waverly’s.

Waverly moved like tongues of flame, hips swaying, body curving. Nicole’s breath quickened. Desire knotted in her stomach, built between her legs as she watched every arch and every twist and conjured fantasies of Waverly beneath her, above her, moving like she was moving now.

”Like what you see?” asked Waverly, teasing and conspiratorial, and Nicole could only nod. Waverly smiled, and her hands began their ascent, skimming her stomach, her breasts, up her neck to tangle in her own hair. Her eyes glinted as she let it stream through her fingers.

She shrugged her jacket from her shoulders. It puddled on the ground.

”I don’t remember that part of the show,” said Nicole, fighting the rust on her vocal cords.

”This is a special show.” Waverly tiptoed close. Her breath broke against Nicole’s lips. Nicole tried to chase her down, to capture her for a kiss, but Waverly laughed and dodged her. Laying one hand on Nicole’s chest, she pushed, and Nicole let herself fall back into the chair.

Waverly climbed in after her.

Her skirt hiked up around her thighs. She moved with the music, and every motion sent shockwaves of desire racing through Nicole. Waverly lowered herself and ground against Nicole’s lap. Nicole’s desire morphed into an ache, yearning and hungry and desperate for touch.

”Waverly,” she whispered, and Waverly leaned away, gripped the hem of her own shirt, and pulled it over her head, leaving her topless.

Nicole gulped. Her hands balled into fists on the arms of the chair, and just as she decided to throw caution to the wind, Waverly was gone, dancing back into the center of the room.

Nicole watched, transfixed, as Waverly’s hands skimmed over her own stomach, her own neck, her own breasts. “I want your hands on me like this,” said Waverly.

”Yes,” said Nicole.

“Your mouth, too.”

Nicole could hardly hear through the pounding in her ears. “Then come over here.” Her hand traced an anxious path along her leg, up and down, up and down.

”Not yet,” said Waverly. She closed her eyes, lifted her arms above her head, and sank into the music.

Nicole felt her lips falling open, felt her own breath across them, her skin ticklish where she’d bitten them. She watched Waverly move, a haze of images, the way her hair fell, the way her body moved, the way music let her slip out of the real world into one of her very own.

Nicole’s hands inched over her own stomach. One finger traced the snap of her jeans. “Hands to myself, right?”

”Mmhm,” said Waverly, one hand sliding between her own legs.

”Okay then,” said Nicole, and she flicked open the clasp.

Waverly’s eyes flickered open. “What are you doing?”

”You said—” Nicole eased down her zipper, “—to keep my hands—” she ran her fingers through her curls, “—to myself.”

”Don’t you dare,” said Waverly, and Nicole grinned and slid one finger into the wetness Waverly had inspired.

She gasped. Her body was hungry for touch. She fed it with slow and steady strokes. Waverly watched, lips agape, a flush spreading across her chest. Nicole’s teeth sunk deeper into the cushion of her lip as she fought to keep her eyes open, her gaze on Waverly.

When Waverly’s hands flexed, her fingers twitching, Nicole dangled a smile on the edges of her mouth. Waverly’s breath caught, a little snap of air in her throat, a strangled sound, then she crossed the space between them in two quick steps.

A question rose to Nicole’s tongue and tumbled away just as quickly. Waverly sank to her knees between Nicole’s legs, grabbed Nicole by the wrist, and pulled her hand away. 

Nicole tried again. “What—?”

But Waverly erased all cogent thought from Nicole’s mind, reaching up to tangle her hands in Nicole’s hair and pull her in. The kiss was hungry, eager, possessive; it was a thing of mouths and tongues and teeth. Nicole forgot to breathe. Nicole forgot to think.

It ended too soon, and Nicole trailed after Waverly’s retreating lips. With a glint in her eye, Waverly dodged Nicole— _ again! _ Nicole thought—then gripped the waist of Nicole’s pants and began working them down her legs.

Nicole watched from above, the air in her lungs and the thoughts in her head thick as molasses as Waverly marked each newly exposed bit of stomach and thigh with a kiss. Then she worked her way back up, hands skimming over Nicole’s skin, until her mouth just brushed the apex of Nicole’s thigh.

“Waverly...” whispered Nicole, and she reached out.

As her fingers brushed Waverly’s skin, Waverly’s eyes fluttered closed, and she brushed her tongue against Nicole.

Nicole arched, every muscle in her body going taut at that first touch. Her fingers threaded into Waverly’s hair, and Waverly pressed closer at the touch, her own hands wrapping around Nicole’s thighs to pull herself in. Nicole let herself relax into it, let her thoughts dissolve into the sensation of Waverly’s tongue firm and insistent against her.

She began to move without thought, her hips lifting, grinding against Waverly’s mouth, and Waverly gasped, and Nicole gasped with her, both hands wrapped in Waverly’s hair, around her head, anchoring her. 

They found a rhythm: Nicole moving against Waverly, Waverly moving against Nicole. Pleasure built in Nicole, the clockspring in her gut winding tighter with every stroke of Waverly’s tongue. As her legs started to shake, as words broke down between her mind and her lips and poured free as gibberish instead, she looked down at Waverly. She found Waverly looking back, half buried between Nicole’s legs, her eyes as hazy and drunk as Nicole felt.

That was all it took. The dam broke, and Nicole sank beneath the waves of her orgasm. She tumbled for a while, in the dark, in the warmth, buoyed by the current and the faint, distant awareness of Waverly easing her down.

When consciousness returned to her, when she pulled herself up out of the warmth of her own body, she tugged Waverly close. Waverly slid toward her, and Nicole drank herself from Waverly’s lips.

“You just couldn’t help yourself, could you?” asked Waverly against Nicole’s kiss.

Nicole shook her head, and kept kissing her.

“You’re always so impa—eek!” Waverly shrieked as Nicole rose, scooping Waverly into her arms and stumbling with her toward the bed. She tripped at the end, her pants forgotten around her ankles, and they bounced together on the mattress with matching yelps.

“Impatient,” finished Waverly, giggling, before Nicole cut her off with another kiss.

Nicole fumbled at the rest of her clothes, discarding them over the side of the bed, and made short work of what Waverly was still wearing. She rested back on her heels, looking down at Waverly beneath her. The sight wiped all of the thoughts from her head and drove all of the air from her lungs.

Two years in, she still tripped into those moments of wonder. Wonder at the woman bared and vulnerable and aching for her. Wonder that their lives had meshed together to create a whole truly greater than the sum of its parts. Wonder that she had even found Waverly in the first place... or rather, that Waverly had found her.

The moment lasted only long enough for her to catch her breath, but it was too much for Waverly. She lifted herself off the bed, hands tracing a path up Nicole’s stomach and chest to curve around her shoulders and draw her in.

_ This, _ Nicole thought, as she sank into Waverly’s embrace, as her fingers charted her favorite curves.  _ I missed this. _ When she found Waverly already wet for her, she kissed her, hard and eager. Nicole’s fingers slid inside. Waverly’s mouth broke from hers as she gasped.

They found a new rhythm, an old rythym, Nicole’s fingers as sure as they had ever been, Waverly’s body moving in perfect time with hers. With the last bit of conscious thought left in her mind, she wondered if she would ever tire of this. Then Waverly’s fingernails scraped along her spine, and her mind dissolved until all that was left of her was the burn of her muscles and the feel of Waverly beneath her. She felt every breath, heard every shift, she knew the dance, she knew to lead. When Waverly came around her fingers, hard and loud, Nicole melted into her even as she brought her down.

Later—much later—they lay curled together. Moonlight trickled through the gaps around the curtains. Nicole’s head lay pillowed on Waverly’s stomach, one arm flung around Waverly’s hips as Waverly’s fingers charted a path through her hair, over and over.

Nicole shuddered, turned to press her lips to Waverly’s stomach, and whispered, “I missed this.”

Her lips had drawn a shiver from Waverly, threatening to distract them for another hour, at least. Her words stilled Waverly just as fast.

“I did, too.” She resumed stroking Nicole’s hair, even gentler the second time. Silence settled between them, and thick, heavy sleep crept in behind. Just as Nicole’s eyelids began to lose their battle against it, Waverly whispered, “Nicole?”

“Hm?”

“Do we have to have a wedding?”

That snapped the film of sleep around Nicole; she pushed herself upright and stared down at Waverly. “You don’t want to get married?”

Waverly sat up, too, the sheets falling away from her torso. She seemed small and exposed in the moonlight, sheltered only by the cascade of her hair over her shoulders. “I definitely still want to get married,” she said. She groped blindly for Nicole’s hand, and Nicole offered it willingly, allowing Waverly to pull her close when she clasped her hand tight against her chest. “I just mean... all this planning you’ve been doing. This... big, complicated wedding. What if we didn’t?”

Nicole inched closer to Waverly, pressing against her. “What did you have in mind?”

“What if we had it here? Just you and me and... our family? Would that be okay?”

Waverly seemed to shake with nerves, and when Nicole’s hand skimmed her jaw, the column of her neck, her arm, she shivered and tipped close. Nicole caught her, enveloping her, and whispered, “Yes.”

**Author's Note:**

> i've never written smut before so i'm nervous as hell, honestly. i'm literally shaking posting this!
> 
> all that aside, thank you to everyone who donated to the minnesota freedom fund back in june. it took me far too long to write this, and i hope it was worth the wait


End file.
